#I wrote a fic... but it's just for me haha

[pynkhues]

Another fanfic writer got ran out of the fandom this weekend because of a 'guilty by association' harassment campaign. She wrote fic of Loustat switching and having a very Canonverse relationship, and a teenager started insulting her writing and inciting harassment by others until she quit writing. The allegation was she was mutuals with someone else who was assumed to be racist, which is flimsy enough, but the real reason was obviously that she wrote popular, beloved fics that did not subscribe to the Hypermasculine Daddy Lestat and Hyperfeminine Housewife Louis Fanon.

This fandom is a horrible place and I am so glad you're still with us and haven't let these people bully you into silence, Sophie. It's so awful.

I'm really, really sorry to hear that, anon. Can I ask who the author is? I'd like to have a look and maybe send them a message or a comment if I can. Hopefully they might be a bit like me though and come back after giving themselves some time and buffer.

It's all pretty hideous behaviour though, and mm - - okay, you know. It's been a few weeks since it all went down with me now, and I've had a lot of people reach out very kindly in DMs, and also had to have y'know, I guess I'd say offbeat, haha, and awkward and heavy conversations with people in my real life, both personally and professionally (although I will say it's kind of been a relief, and half my family has already turned it into a running joke. My mum, who was the first person I told, watched Disclaimer after I recommended it to her, and she keeps texting me photos of the Kevin Kline stalker character with 'your erotic fanfiction haters' and asking me if I'm sure I didn't kill somebody's son, lmao), but I've been thinking about it all a lot, and - - yeah.

Look, this is going to sound off topic, but bear with me for a minute, alright? Over the last two weeks, purely by coincidence, I listened to the Behind the Bastards episodes on Rush Limbaugh. I love that podcast in general, and those two episodes are fascinating, and really worth listening to if you're at all interested in the media landscape's pivot to the right in the last few years. They really explore who he is as a person, his ascent in radio, how he managed that ascent, and the space he created in media which would after him be filled by Fox News, Tucker Carlson, Joe Rogan,et al.

One of the ways that he did this was by being loud, but also presenting himself as trustworthy, and really the only person anyone needed to listen to. He was a smart guy, anyway, anyone could hear that, and if people listened to him, they'd be smart too. One of the first majorly successful runs of this was his campaign against the show Murphy Brown, which is about a woman who is a single mother and a lawyer, successful, bright, and who interacts with a lot of gay people in different capacities in her every day life. Murphy Brown is famous for being one of the first shows to normalise both successful single motherhood, and LGBTQI+ people as varied members of our communities.

Now, Limbaugh positioned the show as offensive, and anyone who liked it as morally wrong, but more than that, he positioned his opinion as the only right one, and he would actively tell people not only to not watch the show, but to not engage with anyone who might have an opinion of it that wasn't his own. He did this by telling people they would be stupid, or 'missing something' if they didn't follow his obvious intellect, that they didn't need to think about it themselves, because he would do the thinking for them, Smart Person That He Was.

And so I'm like, y'know, listening to the podcast on my commute to work, and I just kind of think - - huh. Because it's kind of familiar, right? And I got thinking about how all those people were reblogging my 'vile anti black post' and telling all their followers to block me, thus trying to control their followers ability to see my posts, and presumably the posts of others, since they seem to do that a bit, and then I noticed that those same people trying to ensure everyone blocked me.....didn't block me themselves. And it suddenly just clicked into place.

Fascist rhetoric has come to fandom. Per the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

In simplest terms, fascism refers to a specific way of organizing a society: under fascism, a government ruled by a dictator controls the lives of the people in that society, and allows no dissent or disagreement. 

Fascism is more than just political, it's a philosphy and a mindset. Rush Limbaugh was a media figure, and he was a fascist, and interestingly - importantly - he did not believe in most of what he said. What he wanted was power, success, control, an audience, and to dictate the rhetoric in the media landscape because that granted him that power, success, control, and audience.

And look, I'm not saying these people attacking others with different opinions in the fandom are fascists, but they're using a fascist playbook. Their criticisms, harassment campaigns, threats to dox, actual doxxing, threats to not only involve but criminally endanger children (which I have since learnt my nephews were not the first target of - someone in this fandom who I won't name reached out to tell me they'd similarly threatened to send things to her children) (also I've seen posts that the people who initially were vocally strawmanning my arguments wouldn't do that, and sure, maybe they wouldn't, but all I can say is that if I knew members of my own corner of the fandom were threatening to find and send porn to any minor, let alone children as young as 7, I would be loudly and outspokenly condemning it), and attempts to suppress anything they don't agree with, is fascist behaviour.

They are allowing no dissent, no disagreement, and actively interfering with people's real lives to achieve that.

I don't think this will make any difference to them, I think some might not know what they're doing, but I think a lot do at this point, and I guess what I want to do in this post is just to share what I personally think that it is, and I guess - - mm, not offer words of advice exactly, but perhaps offer some gentle encouragement. I'd encourage anyone in this fandom - hell, everyone in life right now, given the state of things - to approach anyone who tells you there is only one way to create, only one way to enjoy something, or interpret something, or only a select group of people that you should listen to, with caution at the very least.

Fandom - again, hell, community - has always, to me, been about encouraging others to explore and engage with it on their own terms. Diversity of opinion is good, it's healthy, different takes on characters should be exciting, different iterations in fanart and fanfiction is a celebration of the fact that we bring our own stories to, well, stories, and anyone telling you who you should or shouldn't engage with without having a healthy, equal conversation about why you shouldn't engage with them, should be given respectful, reasonable doubt.

Anyway, I'm sure this'll piss people off again, but y'know, I don't really care about them at this point. I think their behaviour is ugly, antithetical to what fandom has always been about, and frankly, I think it's antisocial. I do care about you guys though, and I don't know. I hope this perhaps sheds a little bit of light for you in the same way that I felt it shed a little bit of light for me, or at least makes you think a little bit more broadly about what this desire to control is a part of, and how to engage (or rather, not) with it. But more than anything, I hope that author's okay, and that they've made friends in this fandom like I have who can offer their support.

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

I would love to recommend @tomtomslongdong as a *reader* highlight. It is always such a joy to see what they’re reading but also to read whatever comments and tags they leave behind. Let alone to be a writer and receive their feedback. One of the greatest supporters in the fandom, truly if no one else cares for a fic I wrote but they enjoyed it, it’s like the ultimate stamp of approval.

This week, we're highlighting @tomtomslongdong as a commenter! All recs this week will be from her recs.

Tomtom answered some questions about what she does to find fics and to leave great comments under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

I went from casual watcher in anticipation of season 4 coming out to falling in love with all the characters in the space of a few weeks. Friendship, loyalty and messy family dynamics are such a core part of st, which is something I latch onto when I’m watching anything. And maybe.. there were some characters(Eddie) that I grew even more fond of(definitely Eddie). I even remember seeing edits of Eddie at the picnic table but it wasn’t until I had watched that first episode of season 4 that I truly got it. It’s been 84 years but I’m still in love with that man.

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to read?

I read x reader the most but I adore platonic stobin and I wanna read about them more. Their dynamic is everything to me. Infact Robin with any of the st girls too. I look up this one fanart of robin and Carol Perkins a lot. A LOT.

How do you typically find fics?

At the start I would brave the tags more and I do still do that but genuinely it’s from blogs I like and follow reblogging them. I’ve curated my own little balance of people reading stuff I know I’ll like and also being introduced to fics I might not have even thought of reading before seeing their reactions.

Are there other forms of fanart you enjoy? How do you find them?

Fanart that’s been inspired by fics or concepts, just witnessing one artist inspire another is so joyful. Also when an artists self inserts themselves into their art! It’s seriously one of the coolest things ever. My favourite thing to do is trawling the tags of an eddie blog as I go on a deep dive. I scrape the barnacles off that boat allllll the way back to the start. I find all sorts of fanart and work that maybe I’ve never seen as I didn’t gravitate back to tumblr till later in summer ‘22.

What's your tip for leaving comments on works?

Just tell them how it made you feel man. Scream it at the writers. I’m no good at articulating myself at all but sometimes you read the exact thing you needed to read and all is right with the world. Let them know they’re very much to blame for your emotional state when they post. And who knows those writers might occasionally grace you with the biggest gift of all (more lore on the world they’ve built directly from their mind via an IV drip known as the DMs)

Is there any fanwork that really stood out to you?

hockey!eddie has an iron tight grip on me and if anyone could find the stats on how many times I’ve viewed dr-aculaaa and hearsegrrl art on him, you’d take my phone away

Is there anything we didn't ask that you'd like to add?

Just that it’s wild, there’s this little community in my phone that’s so smart? So talented? And I’ve formed what I hope I can call genuine friendships from this and yet no one in my day to day real life knows I’m just kicking around in here haha! I get to be my weirdo self with my weirdo friends in peace and I think that’s lovely.

[caityelizabethjoy]

@ff9week2024 Day 2 - July 2nd - Side Character || Trance || AUs

Zidane Tribal is a member of Tantalus, the famous theatre troupe. He and his brothers enjoy being Broadway stars, performing popular plays and musicals all around Gaia.

Garnet Alexandros is the daughter of a wealthy and successful politician. She grew up in Alexandria, but spent many weekends visiting her Uncle Cid, Aunt Hilda and cousin Eiko in Lindblum. On one such occasion, when she was 11 years old, she watched Tantalus perform 'The Lion King', and fell head over heels for the boy who played Young Simba.

10 years later, now studying at Lindblum University, and with tickets to see 'Aladdin' in a few months time, Garnet finds herself having an unexpected meet cute with the very same star she had a crush on in her youth - Zidane Tribal! Meeting briefly in a coffee shop, the broadway star (who just so happens to be leading as Aladdin) is quick to ask her out on a date.

Garnet's friends Freya and Beatrix, along with Eiko, help her navigate her way through her first romantic experience. Although cautious at first, Garnet is quick to fall for her childhood crush. She soon meets Zidane's brothers, Blank, Marcus and Cinna, who play Aladdin's friends Omar, Kassim and Babkak, and Ruby, playing the lead role of Jasmine.

Despite her inexperience, Garnet can't help but feel this relationship with Zidane was meant to be. It doesn't take long before she's frequenting the theatre, watching Zidane perform, cheering him on - and perhaps enjoying a sneaky kiss or two between rehearsals. But Zidane is keeping a secret from her... a secret that may just ruin this meaningful bond he has been so desperate to find all his life.

[wikiangela]

It's a quiet evening, they're winding down after a long, exhausting day of work, just enjoying each other's company. They're on the couch, a cheesy romcom playing on the TV, Tommy's head in Buck's lap, Buck's fingers playing with Tommy's soft curls.

He's watching Tommy more than the movie. He observes his reactions, the soft smiles, the small chuckles, the eye rolls and scoffs - depending on what's happening on the screen. He's so beautiful and Buck wants to stare at him forever. And he gets to.

He beams, as he glances at his hand, still in Tommy's hair, where a simple silver band sits right on his ring finger, an exact match to the one on Tommy's hand, now casually resting on his stomach. Well, almost an exact match, the inscription on the inside just a little bit different - they both say their wedding date and the word 'forever' but they also have each other's names inscribed. Buck likes to take if off sometimes and just look at the words, trace his fingertip over Tommy's name, still amazed that this is his life, even after over a year of being married already.

So he observes his husband, eyes scanning all over, while Tommy's completely immersed in the movie, the romantic dork - Buck loves that he's the only one who truly gets to see this side of him. He's so cute and gorgeous, and Buck loves him so much and just can't take his eyes off him.

That's when he notices it, and a gasp breaks out of him. He can feel a huge grin pulling at his face.

"What's wrong?" Tommy immediately looks at him, a small concerned frown creasing his forehead. When he notices Buck smiling, worry turns into pure confusion. "Evan?"

"Baby." Buck says seriously, his fingers gripping a strand of Tommy's hair, as he announces happily, "You have your first gray hair." He's looking right at it, just a tiny, barely noticeable, silvery hair. It's there, and it looks beautiful, and Buck already kind of can't wait to see his husband get more of them.

"Okay?" Tommy's frown deepens, this time with amusement. "So?"

"So-" Buck starts, then shakes his head. It's stupid, it's just a hair, no big deal, everyone gets them eventually, it's nothing special. But in a way, it is. Because when they met a few years ago Tommy didn't have gray hair. Because in their line of work, and with their luck, with Buck's luck, seeing yourself or a person you love grow old is not always a given - and it's such a blessing. This, seeing a gray hair in Tommy's hair, combined with wrinkles starting to form on his beautiful face - it's an amazing sight. They're sharing a life together, growing older together, they're able to see each other go through all these changes, step by step, day by day, seemingly unnoticeable unless you pay particular attention. It makes Buck feel so grateful for this life he has, for his husband, for getting this chance. "Nothing," he says, fingers resuming combing through Tommy's thick curls, eyes still drawn to that lone gray hair. "I just love you."

"I love you, too, Evan." Tommy smiles that crinkly smile that makes the lines around his eyes even more pronounced. Buck has to lean down and kiss his lips, then the corner of his eye, making Tommy laugh. "What's that have anything to do with my gray hair?"

"I just really like the thought of getting to grow old with you. Of spending my life with you." Buck whispers, and sees Tommy's smile melt into that soft 'Evan' smile, reserved just for him.

"And you say I'm sappy," he responds teasingly, and Buck laughs. Oh, he loves Tommy so much. He looks into Tommy's eyes and sees everything he was just thinking about. He sees how Tommy wants the same things, how he appreciate those reminders, like a silly gray hair, of getting to go through life together.

He kind of can't wait to start going gray, too. To grow old with his husband.

[moeblob]

No fun allowed.

[azul-marie]

ada. (enamour)

fem. reader. love rivalry including ada/reader/leon. (focus on reader)

something cold digs in between your shoulder blades, sending shivers up tense muscles.

it’s a sudden sensation. catches you off guard you forget to call out to leon, whose back is turned to you whilst sifting through paper files laying across an abandoned wooden desk. the latest room you’ve snuck into seemed abandoned enough — save for its open window rocking back and forth on screeching bolts. they must’ve entered through there mere seconds before the two of you did.

warm, sweet breath tickles your earlobe. another round of shivers overtake your senses. this time, through, you recover quickly enough to react.

your hand flies to your pocketed blade and in an instant is pressed up to their throat. it is then you realize, recognize who your company is. she smiles serenely at you, acting like the knife at her neck isn’t sharp enough to slice through bone. she bears her pistol with all the grace of someone who’s caught you in her web, not the other way around.

“long time no see, kitten.”

her deadpan voice practically echoes through the silence of the night. finally surprising your partner into turning around. what surprises him further is the way ada gazes at you, almost identical to the way she did at him all those years ago.

“ada.” leon says plainly, hand hovering over his own pistol. his eyes flicker between the two of you, to the way your hand fumbles with your blade, to how she smiles a little too suggestively for someone being threatened. he’s certain you’re about to push her down, or for her to knock the knife away from your obviously loosened grip — neither happen.

instead, you carefully tuck your blade away and greet her with a coy smile of your own.

“i wasn’t expecting you here, red.” your arms cross, a guard of sorts. you knew full well of the games she liked to play. she holds your eyes as she slips her pistol back in its holster, searching for something you refuse to show. it’s been a long time, indeed, but you still remember how to compose yourself around her. it’s all rather flattering.

ada circles you, trailing her fingertips over your shoulders. her silky touch is the only weapon in her grasp, but it is perhaps her most dangerous. she takes pleasure in the way you shift beneath her watch, how your pretty face fights to remain mild. she’s no fool. she sees the smile playing at those luscious lips of yours — why bother hiding it? she’s all sultry eyes just for you, now that she’s finally managed to separate your stuffy partner’s hip from yours. seems he hadn’t changed after all. he really was the clingy type.

it was cute. once. not when he happened to be clingy with you of all people.

“once i heard you were around, i just couldn’t help myself.” her arm comes to rest around the curve of your waist. her fingers press into the flesh of your hip, easing you closer. her lips hover over the soft of your neck, almost kissing a path up to your ear. your breathing stutters, and she purrs, “wanted to stop by and catch up with my favorite girl, is all.”

you scoff, but there’s no stopping the heat rising up and over your face. those pretty lips of yours finally turn up in a smile, bashful like a schoolgirl crush. the temptation to run her thumb over your bottom lip runs strong — until an awkward, intentional clear of a throat interrupts the thought.

“i’d appreciate if you left my partner alone.” leon interjects, striding to stand tall besides you. in a swift motion he interweaves your elbows together and pulls you towards him, at once halting the hold she had on you. it’s a comfortable, possessive sort of touch. how quaint. cute little leon, still wearing his heart on his sleeve.

given the way his hand clamps around yours, he must really have it bad. what a shame. for him.

ada is slow to drag her eyes away from you. she even runs them up, down, over your lovely body for good measure. she can’t have leon thinking she isn’t willing to compete — two can play at that game. his fuming glower tells her he’s gotten the message loud and clear. as he should. she zeros in on the way his grip tightens around yours, again, cozily touching you as if you were his.

a quirk of her brow suggests ire. “glad to see you, leon. to think, after all this time, you’re still such a lucky man. who would’ve thought she’d end up being your partner?”

the two of them stare each other down with such intensity you wonder what other history they share aside from you. tension seeps into the chill of the nighttime air. leon’s coiled up so tightly it raises worry, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his bicep to placate him. for all you know, the mysterious plagas infecting him could thrive off stress, and he’s already had plenty of that so far.

almost immediately does your touch have him redirecting his notice towards you. his intense gaze softens at your pretty eyes studying him. his broad shoulders gradually relax in your embrace. he’s visibly calmed by the simple act, much to ada’s amusement — and her vexation. her fingertips dig into her palms, wishing it was your hands beneath them instead.

“ada, why are you really here?” you inquire, and she’s pleased when you finally set sights back on her. she’s not fond of the questioning, however. she purses her lips. her expression morphs into a cautious neutral. you’re aware you won’t be getting a direct answer, no matter how much she likes you.

ada sighs, “oh, sweetheart. you know i don’t work and tell.”

guarded, she saunters to the opposite end of the room to the very window she slithered in through, overlooking the bleak scenery with little interest. you slip past leon to follow after her, grasping her fingers to keep her from going any further. pleasant warmth seeps through from your fingertips to hers. there’s no time to relish it, although she longs to feel more. calculating eyes regard you and you alone.

“leave the girl,” demands ada. “she’s lost no matter what. you walk away now…and who knows? maybe you’ll live to meet me again.”

keeping her eyes locked on yours, she brings your hand to her lips, and presses a languid kiss across your knuckles. a stain of red now marks you as hers. play glimmers in her irises. “…maybe i’ll even take you on that date i promised.”

“you think we’re gonna give up that easy?” leon’s voice cuts in, weighed with barely contained venom.

“right.” ada exhales a laugh. how true. the two of you really are perfect for one another. hearts of gold, heads full of dreams. she turns towards a silently seething leon, whose eyes pierce her every move. he does a poor job at hiding his envious glare towards your entwined hands. “how about we continue this discussion another time?”

she drops your hand unceremoniously, in favor of pressing a kiss to your cheek. the pulse of your racing heart is nearly tangible. such a sweet girl, flustered by a simple kiss. longing parts her lips in their journey up to your ear to whisper, “stay safe, beautiful.” she pulls away with an air of nonchalance, committing to memory the clear look of shock she’s frozen you into. it takes all she has not to go back in for another kiss, for there’s no knowing where her lips will land if she does.

“keep her safe for me, will you, leon? she’s really quite precious, you know.”

and just like that, she’s gone.

you nearly stumble towards the creaking window for a vain glimpse into the night she’s disappeared through. half shocked, half mortified of your audience still gaping at you, you could only hope he wasn’t put off by the instance of his flirty adversary. or the fact you had no quarrels in encouraging her.

a hand wraps around yours, warm and tight.

“careful. leaning out a little too far there, don’t you think?”

leon sounds rather relieved now that it’s back to being the two of you. ada must’ve been a sore sight for whatever reasons he’s held within. you avoid his eyes to recollect yourself, murmuring apologies beneath your breath.

then, a touch upon your cheek, the very one she’d kissed, puts a stop to all thoughts. your eyes flutter up towards leon’s. his usually somber expression has turned sour, scowling and scorned in a way you’re unfamiliar with. his hand cups your face, thumb frantically rubbing off what must be a lipstick stain ada’s left behind. the intensity of his eyes only adds to your embarrassment, makes you wish he hadn’t seen her in the first place. maybe then he wouldn’t be upset, angry with the ghost of her presence.

“here i thought luis would be my only problem.” leon mutters, so softly you’d mistaken he’d spoken at all. when he notices the shift in your pretty eyes, the sweetsoft concern that struck him weak, his gaze mellows instantly, and he blinks rapidly as if coming out of a daze. rose pink springs across his face in a blooming blush, a bigger surprise than his supposed anger. he rips his hand away upon realizing himself, leaving you curious.

“i mean—i meant, she’s the last person i expected to run into here. it’s—it’s a long story. won’t bore you with it. just know she’s probably not worth trusting completely. it’s best you’re careful around her. i’d hate…i wouldn’t want you hurt.”

his voice goes quiet at the end. his head is turned away, body tight and tense, hands fiddling with the holsters of his weapons. it isn’t like leon to speak so personally. so openly about his emotions. and you know it isn’t because of ada’s mere presence, what must be a recollection of the past.

you touch your cheek, still warm from his skin.

“you’re the one i trust, leon. we came here together, and we’re leaving together. i’m with you until the end.”

courage overtakes bashful notions. you close in beside him, reach up to push a lock of his hair behind his ear. cup his shying face, a tender encouragement to share his vulnerability with you. leon’s eyes fall back on yours too easily, too swiftly for a simple friendship. you see it; he is incapable of masking it.

it’s somewhat of an honor he’s so fond of you. it’s a reminder to be gentle with his feelings, though you yourself may not have yours sorted out just yet. but it is ascertained that you care immensely for him, perhaps in the way he’d like you to. perhaps not. there’s plenty of time to work things out.

“i’m with you, ace.” you smile, tugging his cheek until he returns one of his own. “there’s no one else i’d rather have beside me. got it?”

leon nods, convinced. “yeah. thanks.”

you pay a playful pat to his cheek, satisfied with his answer. “good, good. now, why don’t we get moving? we wouldn’t want to keep miss ashley waiting. what were we even looking for in the first place? some kind of key?”

the mention of the mission reinvigorates him. “yeah, exactly. should be somewhere around here, if you can help me look.”

“sure! let’s just hope we can get by without someone interrupting again.”

“wouldn’t that be nice.” scoffs leon, slipping his fingers through yours to lead you back towards the other half of the room. this habit of wanting you close was really too cute. willingly do you allow him to take your hand as he pleases.

all the while you will your heart not to flutter at the lipstick still staining the other, red on red alike.

[wildsaltair]

This Fragile Vessel

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort and romance, with a few tiny hints of spice)

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: Thank y'all so much for all your kind words on my past fics :) It's such a joy getting to write about Maximus, and I love sharing these fics with people who enjoy them. This is another of my favorite pieces, sort of a companion / sequel piece to "Stalking Tiger," but it's a self-explanatory standalone. It's part of a larger narrative (everything is the same except Maximus was single AU) in which reader is a slave sent to entertain Maximus in the gladiator school, but they end up falling madly in love and kind of living in agony day to day worrying that something will happen to the other. This takes place at some time during that doomed love affair, and it's got all my usual self-indulgent daydreams wrapped up in it. I hope y'all enjoy :)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Four endless days pass in the cold, dark room of the gladiator school to which you are assigned when your cough grows so severe that you can barely stand upright anymore. Four days pass in a blur of fever, chills, coughing spells, unconsciousness, and the fear that this blank dark ceiling will be the last sight you ever see.

The sickness would not bother you so much on its own. What troubles you most is that you cannot see the Spaniard in all that time.

Ever since you were brought to serve in the gladiator school, fulfilling any slave’s job that needed doing, your love for the Spaniard has only strengthened. Your nights together — though dictated by how well Maximus performs in the arena, and how often Proximo thinks you should be allowed to spend the night with the Spaniard — have intensified the passion and tenderness you feel for one another, and your days are less miserable. As always, the gloomy threat of your love’s death in the arena looms like a cloud overhead, but the joyful nights you spend in his arms serve to help you both keep your minds off your fears.

But your symptoms have only worsened in the chilly stone halls of the gladiator school. What started as a mere cough has escalated to dizzy spells and fevers, which resulted in the slave master sending you to one of the sickbays until you recover.

Now four days have passed. You wonder if Maximus even knows what has happened to you. You have no way to send him word.

You wonder often if you will die; if these coughs are the final sighs of your lungs, if your bouts of unconsciousness are your first forays into the depths of death. You often awaken unable to breathe, unable to speak or move. Though the symptoms have just begun to improve slightly, you are still so weak and depleted of energy that you cannot imagine how you will recover.

And what will happen to your lover if you die? You have both come to terms with the idea that his life is in the most danger. He has made no secret of the fact that you are his reason for living, and that he will have no other reason if something happens to you.

It troubles you. What will become of your beloved if you die?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On the fifth night, joy itself visits your cold, dark, lonely room.

The jangle of keys alerts you to an incoming visitor, but you are so weak that you cannot even open your eyes and turn your head.

The heavy door slides open, footsteps cross the room quickly, and a moment later, a warm hand is caressing your forehead with the gentleness of a feather.

You open your eyes, and the first thing you see is the face of your beloved, gazing down at you with eyes that speak to his mixed worry and relief.

“My love,” Maximus breathes, focused blue eyes darting across your face. He’s kneeling beside your bed, one hand stroking your forehead and the other resting uncertainly on the blanket, as if he is not sure if he should touch you.

Your heart leaps with joy at the sight of him. Five days, and at last he is close enough to touch again. You lift a hand to try, but your strength fails you.

He immediately moves his other hand and catches yours, pulling it close to press his lips against the back of your hand. He closes his eyes, lets his warm lips linger on your cold skin.

“You’re here,” you whisper, your voice little more than a rasp. Trying to speak is gratingly painful in your ragged lungs. “I am so glad.”

The Spaniard hears the way you struggle to speak, and he immediately leans forward, stroking your forehead with his thumb and gazing into your eyes with such earnestness that your heart flips over in your chest.

“Do not try to speak,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your hand again. “Save your strength. Save your breath,” he adds when he notices the labored rise and fall of your chest.

You smile faintly up at him, so overwhelmed with the joy of seeing him again that you can barely think of the pain in your chest.

“How did you get here?” you ask softly, squeezing his hand.

His gaze roams over your face, clearly worried that you are going to continue speaking whether you should or not. “After five days,” he tells you quietly, “I could not stand it any longer. They would not tell me if you lived. I told Proximo I would not raise a hand in the arena again until I had seen you and made sure you were well.”

The story brings another smile to your lips, imagining your love making one of his very few demands to the master of the gladiator school.

“I am so glad,” you tell him honestly, and his face softens as you gaze up at him with adoring eyes. “It does me good to see you.”

The Spaniard tries to return your smile, but you can read the worry on his face. Seeing you so fragile and ill is not what he hoped to find, you know, and you can only imagine how he will worry after he has to leave.

A sharp cough racks your lungs, much to your chagrin, shaking your entire body. Maximus' eyes darken with worry, and he immediately moves to sit on the edge of your bed, one leg curled beneath him. He pulls you into his arms, one hand stroking your back soothingly while you catch your breath.

“I’m here,” he whispers gently, his mouth close to your ear. “I have you now.”

Just being close to him comforts you in ways you cannot express. You fall bonelessly into his embrace, your head resting on his shoulder while one of his strong arms stays wrapped around your waist. Sitting upright makes breathing less painful.

“I am so glad you came,” you whisper once your breath comes a bit easier. “So glad you are here with me.”

He draws a shaky breath, one that you feel where his body is pressed against yours. “I would have come sooner,” he promises, “but I was not allowed.” His voice is tight, resentful. You know how much Maximus despises being a slave, having his every move dictated and policed.

You nod in understanding, just rejoicing in the fact that he is here now. His body is warm against yours, bringing a pleasant heat to your chilled bones. His fingers carefully trace up and down your spine, feeling the too-pronounced notches in your spine through the thin shift you are wearing.

“Do they know what is wrong with you?” he whispers, his breath ghosting across your shoulder. You instinctively lift your hands to hold him, managing to rest them against his ribs.

You shake your head slightly, letting your cheek rest against his. His beard scratches against your cheek marvelously.

“No,” you reply. “Some sort of fever. I have been burning up for the last few days, but now the chills have set in. I get dizzy and fall unconscious, then cough until my lungs feel like they are bleeding. I am exhausted, but I cannot sleep. I am losing my strength, but I cannot eat.”

“I can tell,” he remarks, concern tinging his voice. His fingers are exploring the sharpness of your shoulder blades. “I can feel your bones.”

He lifts his head from your shoulder, pulls away from you slightly so he can look at you. His gaze softens, melts when he gazes deep into your eyes. One hand continues to stroke your back calmingly, while the other caresses your cheek.

“I worry for you, beloved,” he whispers, leaning forward to touch his lips against yours. “You feel so fragile. I worry your strength will give out.”

His lips come to rest now against the corner of your mouth, and you smile in response. “My strength has returned to me,” you whisper gently, stroking his ribs with your fingertips. “It walked in the door just a moment ago.”

A wave of emotion seems to overcome him, one that he had been hiding until now, and he dips his head to rest in the crook of your neck. He gathers you close, not squeezing you tightly but holding you close to his chest while he breathes in your scent.

“Would that I could take it from you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Would that I could bear your burdens.”

You summon the strength to raise a hand and touch the back of his neck, where his muscles are tight and strained. Your touch elicits a soft sound from him, a relaxing of his muscles, and he cuddles you even closer in his arms.

“You ease them,” you assure him, kissing the top of his ear affectionately. “That is better than bearing them.”

He breathes, slow and deep, against your neck, then touches his lips very softly to the column of your throat. He pauses there, feeling the weakened pulse of your blood.

“All I want is for you to be well,” he whispers, lips brushing your throat in a way that makes you shiver. So many of your dreams have been haunted by the memory of his lips on your skin, his hands coaxing gasps from you, your bodies so thoroughly entwined that you fell asleep as though one person. Such pleasures seem far away and very close at the same time now, with this different, heightened intimacy.

“And so I will be,” you promise him softly. Your fingers tangle in his hair at the base of his neck, caressing his warm skin to relax him further. “Now that I have seen you, I am reminded of why I must get well quickly.”

He sighs, then shifts you in his arms. Carefully, he lays you on your back, settling your head against the pillow with the greatest delicacy. Again, your blood surges at the memory of the last time he did this — in his bed, to settle himself between your legs and kiss every inch of your bare skin.

A moment later, his large hand is pressed flat against your chest, directly over your heart. He pauses, listening or feeling for a sound.

“Your heart beats so fast,” he murmurs in concern, still leaning forward so your faces are close.

You manage another smile, resting your hand on his chest to mirror his actions. “As it always does when I am close to you,” you tease him, then pause when another coughing spell knocks you breathless.

You despise the worried look on his face, knowing that seeing you this way will haunt him. You wish you could put on a brave face and convince him that all is well, but he is too perceptive.

“Your lungs,” he says softly, his gaze falling to your chest as though he can see through you. “They are choking the life out of you. I have seen it before.”

With his soldiers, no doubt. And no doubt he has seen many soldiers die from such an illness.

You are too breathless and pained to respond, so you simply nod and close your eyes, tilting your head back while you gasp for another breath.

A moment later, he has opened your shift, baring you to the waist in the cold air. You shiver deeply, but a moment later, his warm hands are spread over your chest, rubbing in a rhythm that is both vigorous and gentle.

“I have seen it before,” he repeats quietly, eyes locked on your face while he massages your chest muscles. “If your lungs can loosen up, you will breathe easier.”

You have to fight the urge to cough sharply the harder he presses, but you gradually realize that his ministrations are indeed helping. Your chest does not feel as tight, nor your breath as constricted.

You wish this were a different moment. You wish he were undressing you and touching the swell of your chest with lovemaking in mind. You would give anything for a simple moment to submit to him like this, to surrender to his passionate touches and kisses. But this is not that moment, and for right now, you are grateful that you can even draw a full breath.

He continues to rub circles on your upper chest, watching you carefully the whole time for any reaction. When you finally have caught your wind and begun to breathe at a normal rhythm, he slows down.

“Is that better?” he murmurs, thumbs stroking your skin affectionately.

You nod breathlessly, gazing deep into his blue eyes with all the love and adoration you feel for him. “Yes,” you manage to whisper, but no other words will come.

You stay like that for a silent moment, he transfixed by the rhythm of your breathing and you mesmerized by his intensity, his tenderness, the intimacy of him leaning over you this way, trying to catch your every breath as though each was a precious treasure to him.

Then, knowing his time with you is coming to a close, the Spaniard leans forward a bit more, touching his cheek against yours. One hand still presses onto your chest, measuring your heartbeat, while the other cards through your hair. His fingers on your scalp are so gentle, so pleasurable, that all you can do is sigh.

“It tears me apart to have to leave you this way,” he whispers into your jaw, which he kisses with the softest delicacy.

You tilt your head to nuzzle him fondly, soaking up his sweet presence as you slowly begin to feel your consciousness slipping away. “Not for long,” you tell him.

Another tender kiss to your cheek, and he pushes himself up, one hand still protectively touching your heart. “I will try to come back,” he promises. “Tomorrow, if they will let me.”

You nod, smiling up at him through the dizziness that sweeps over you. “I will be well soon,” you rasp. “I will come back to you very soon.”

He closes his eyes for a moment when you reach up to touch his face softly. The brush of your fingertips seems to bring him near to coming undone, and he clenches his jaw to hide the emotion.

“I will be thinking of you every moment,” he vows. “Every heartbeat will remind me of you. Every breath.”

Your smile only softens further, and he finally returns it, clearly trying to be strong for you and comfort you. Wordlessly, he reaches to close your tunic back up, lacing the strings easily as he has done many times in the intimacy of his bed.

“There,” he whispers when he has finished, and he strokes your forehead one last time as blackness tugs at the edges of your vision. “Now you should rest.”

You nod, and as if on cue, the guard pounds on the door to let him know that it is time to leave. A thousand years with him would never be enough, but these few moments in his arms have restored your strength beyond reason.

He hesitates, not wanting to leave you. “Stay strong, my love,” he says, leaning forward to kiss your forehead sweetly. “Take some of my strength and make it your own.”

Blinking back your unconsciousness, you smile up at him, warmth spreading through your body, and he pushes himself off the edge of your bed to follow the insistent guard out of the room.

One more quick look over his shoulder — one that simply reiterates the deep love and devotion he feels for you, the loyalty and protectiveness and tenderness and passion — and Maximus is gone out the door.

But even once he is gone and sleep is tugging you into its dark and dreamless realm, you are warmed by the memory of his touch, and eased by the strength of his hands, and cheered by the joy of his presence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

It’d be so incredibly funny if Rory the Roman (Power of Three Rory) got sent back to the past into Vampires of Venice Rory (his body) and both Past Doctor and Past Amy realise how different he is.

Rory the Roman didn’t realise it back then, but the 2 thousand years really did change him. He’s also more nonchalant about dying (which scares Amy)( and the Doctor a little bit because of Past Rory’s whole “You have no idea how dangerous you make people to themselves when you’re around.” quote

Rory has become more fearless, more of a warrior

Yet still kind, still himself

Even as Rory tries not to reveal himself as Future Rory, him understanding the timelines and fixed points so well makes the Doctor suspicious, doesn’t know what to do with him.

Also… Rory the Roman has so much trust in Past Doctor. While Vampires of Venice has none. It reminds Past Doctor of River

Also, Rory the Roman is less jealous than Past Rory

Here are some little snippets that could happen lmao

—

Past Amy POV:

“How do you know how to fight so well?” Amy questioned, trying not to stare at Rory’s…. eyes.

They were piercing, focused yet blank. Her Rory never used to look like that. It makes her nervous and thinks about what the Doctor said. An Imposter. If… If that Rory is an Imposter, then.. where is her real boyfriend?

Despite the differences, she could—she could still see her Rory in him.

“Hm?” He didn’t spare a glance at her, thankfully, he raised the broom in his hand mechanically, more like a soldier than a nurse. “Practiced.”

When? She stopped herself from asking. Instead, they ran to the next room, hiding from the fish alien things that were chasing them all

—

“So… She kissed me.” The Doctor mentioned out of the blue as they walked, repeating what he’d said before, trying to see if Rory was an imposter or not.

Rory made a face at that, grimacing, though he took a long pause before speaking, “So.” What did he say in the past again? “You kissed her back.”

This was a really strange situation to be in, and they had rebooted the universe before! Oh, it was incredibly hard not to think of this Doctor as family, but he knew he had to act less friendly towards him. It made him feel… bad.

Not too bad of course, but, he could empathise with his daughter like this.

oh bloody hell he couldn’t mention river during this whole thing can he?? He’s not supposed to know her!

The Doctor’s brow furrowed slightly but they continued forward.

oh how does River do this…. Trying to talk to younger The Doctor at Lake Silencio was hard enough, and now, the Doctor doesn’t even think of him as his father-in-law friend

He really needed to find a way to contact someone from his future.

OR PO3 Amy fully realising how selfish she was in VOV and noticing VOV Rory’s insecurities much more easily when she’s not burying herself in her own trauma, and she tries very hard to make it up to him, all while trying not to let the timelines fall apart

Just like Rory the Roman, she fails spectacularly hard

Although it was more because, VOV Rory’s unused to the sudden affection PO3 Amy is giving him

[sysig]

The brainworms are winning, clearly (Patreon)

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Got a comment that said they liked the fic but weren't expecting to I guess? Bc while they like both, they thought soulmate AUs and slow burns were antithetical and I just

That's the problem!! That's why I wrote it!!!! Too many people think soulmate AUs are just a quick easy oh they found out they're soulmates so they're together now the end

No??? 1) that's not satisfying and 2) that's not how people work??

That kind of soulmate AU makes me so crazy bc like, if you're not going to do the work of showing what makes these people soulmates then what's the point? I want to feel it!! As the reader I should be able to read the story and then pinpoint the ways they fit together like puzzle pieces. If you quit at and they were soulmates then like lol what are we even doing here?

And people are messy! People lie people do things that make no sense bc they're scared or they think it's expected or they're trying to make someone they care about happy. You don't have to: their eyes met and they knew in their soul exactly how perfect this person was for them. Add some deflection. Add some confusion inherent to living. Add a barrier and some miscommunication and root it in who they are as people. There are a million ways to tell a satisfying soulmate story but very few of them end at the meet cute imo

[starrylothcat]

Not Alone

Hunter x Reader One-Shot

Warnings: Big spoilers for The Bad Batch S2 finale. Sadness, angst, comfort. SFW

Summary: You comfort Hunter after the events of the season 2 finale.

Word Count: 900ish

I was inspired by @jedipoodoo ‘s post on writing comfort for Hunter after the S2 finale, and @wanderer-six ‘s lovely Wrecker fic. Check it out! Our boys are in desperate need of comfort. 😩

Anyway, enjoy. 😌

The Marauder was deadly silent. You could feel the anguish hanging in the air, it was suffocating as you tried to conceal your sobs. You found a small corner of the ship to tuck away in to, trying to process everything that had happened.

Tech was gone.

And so was Omega.

You couldn’t think straight, the grief ripping through you. Watching Tech plummet in to the clouds ran through your mind over and over. Seeing Omega be taken, while you all watched hopelessly, gripped your heart like an iron vice.

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears spilled out, silent cries wracking your body.

A gentle touch on your shoulder startled you. Hunter was standing over you, his face twisted in guilt. You had been with Clone Force 99 long enough to call them all brothers. Over time, your relationship with Hunter became more than friends, and you loved one another fiercely.

On Pabu, in those blissful days of no worries, you both talked about settling down there together with Omega. You were hopeful for a chance of putting your lives as soldiers to rest, and being with the man you loved. But that dream was now gone.

He held out a hand, offering to help you stand up. Always the strong Sergeant. But he doesn’t have to be.

He shouldn’t be the one coming to comfort you, as you knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. He blames himself.

You took his hand and laced yours with his once you stood up fully. The feeling of his gloved hand caressing yours gave you solace, momentarily. He looked at you, the absolute pain his eyes making your heart shatter. “Hunter…” your voice almost inaudible. He reached toward you with his free hand, wiping a tear off your face. “We’ll find her…” he whispered. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to crack under his gentle touch. “Don’t blame yourself...” You mumbled as you laid your head in the crook of his neck, tears threatening to fall again. Hunter put his strong arms around you, pulling you close and resting his cheek on top of your head.

“Let me help you, let us help you.” You said softly.

He gripped you tighter, and you could feel his body shake. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have let them take her. I shouldn’t have taken us to Cid’s. I shouldn’t have let Tech…” His voice broke and he buried his face in to your hair. His usual stoic demeanor was crumbling, and he felt lost.

Useless. A failure.

He had let everyone down. First Crosshair. Now Tech. And Omega…his family was fading away from him one by one and there was nothing he could do about it. His grief over Tech laying so heavy on him, he could barely breath. He had never felt so undone.

He continued his hold on you, afraid if he let go, you’d be taken from him too. Something that he already had nightmares about and couldn’t bear the pain of that passing thought, not now. His senses were suddenly overwhelmed, and his head began to spin. He stumbled forward, before catching himself on you. “Hunter! Sit down, you’re still injured...” You had grabbed his shoulders to catch him, and he leaned in to you.

“I’m still here, Hunter.” You murmured. “We made these decisions as a team. And Tech…he saved us. This isn’t something you need to carry alone. Please, we’ll do this together.” You pleaded, knowing whatever you said, he would still carry the guilt on his own. He knew he didn’t have to, but it was habit. He let out a breath, your soft words bringing him back, grounding him.

Hunter looked you in the eyes, trying to find anything to say. You placed a hand on his cheek, and he leaned in to your touch, feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever had in his life.

You brought your lips to his in a soft, chaste kiss. “I’m here for you. Always.” His mesmerizing brown eyes met yours, and you could see tears forming in the corners. “I know.” He whispered as he brought you back in to another strong embrace, your familiar scent surrounding him. He focused on the sound of your heartbeat, rhythmic and strong. Alive.

He felt your hands on his back, the warmth of your palms radiating through his clothing. He truly didn’t know what he would be without you, especially now, in this moment. You had a way of always knowing what he was thinking. While you were intense and composed on the battlefield, you had a tranquil way about you. Whenever Hunter was stressed by a mission, getting in to his own head about his skills as a leader, you were always there to reassure him. It’s one of the reasons he fell for you.

You melted in to one another, desperately wishing the circumstances were different. He slowly pulled away from you, because if didn’t, he would continue getting lost in you forever. But every second that passed, Omega got further away. You knew it too. Your lives as soldiers weren’t over. Not yet.

He put his hand under your chin, lifting it gently toward his face. “I love you.” He mumbled, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead, before stepping away from you. He moved toward the front of the ship, where Echo and Wrecker were silently sitting, lost in their own dark thoughts.

“I love you, too.” Your heart swelled momentarily, before following him to begin planning your next move, ready to continue the fight.

[youvebeengalindafied]

Had to come over here directly after finishing Say There’s No Future For Us As A Pair just to say THIS LINE WAS SO WILD IM OBSESSED WITH IT:

Fiyero’s eyes flashed back up and he moved to murmur hotly into the very crease of her thigh.

“Darling. They’ll find us in this little love nest and I’ll die with my mouth on you.”

GOD. DAMN.

Haha omg. He’s so fucking insane, I love it.

(In my defense as author: the play is also exactly this ridiculously horny. I’m only picking up what the song was throwing down.)

[padfootastic]

i am so tired of female characters being inherently written as ‘terrifying’ or ‘scary’ w no respect to their characterisation.

for one, it feels so fake. i know so many women irl (i am one!!!) and there are very few, of any, that i would categorise as ‘scary as is’. heck, even if we go by tempers—the numbers just don’t match.

but somehow in fics, every single woman is a terrifying force of nature bc that’s…somehow…the only way we can think of women? idk?

and also just, it’s such a two dimensional characterisation that i only see w the female characters. all men aren’t angry and hex-happy and scary all the time. they’re affable, chill, respond to situations thoughtfully instead of always resorting to violence.

i think it also bothers me bc the anger thing flows neatly into the v gendered carefree man child/stuck up fun sponge stereotypes that so many relationships are forced into. it’s just an icky dynamic all around.

and lastly,,,i don’t think it’s even normal for a character to be latently terrifying everyone all the time??? unless it’s a specific quirk of theirs??? like women aren’t dementors bro chill tf out

[lunarharp]

qifrey's birthday and silly stuff

[wikiangela]

🥵🥵🥵

9 sentences of the bucktommy smut for you! still not really sure about anything in this fic, but hopefully it's turning into something semi-good lmao

 “Can I blow you?” he adds, and it’s so sudden and quick, for a second Buck doesn’t even register it, too lost in Tommy’s touch. But when the words catch up to him, he releases the loudest moan. “God, please,” he whimpers, the thought of Tommy’s lips on him filling him with so much more needy desire, he just needs more more more. More Tommy, more of this, just more. “I think- I think I might die if you don’t.” He says and hears Tommy bark out a breathy laugh. “Well, that’s a little dramatic,” he teases, but he lowers his head, closer to Buck’s dick, the movements of his hand slowing down. When he speaks next, his hot breath ghosts over Buck’s flushed skin, his cock twitching with anticipation. “But we can’t let that happen, can we?” he purrs, and then his tongue is darting out and licking the pre-come off the slit, and Buck’s pretty sure his moan can be heard in the whole building.

tagging people who were also interested: @bidisasterevankinard @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus

[rainofcolours]

blue, white and brown (1980 words)

[ (2/? hierarchy of collapse) | Kaijou/Puppyshipping | @hurtcember 2024 Day 2: Breakdown ]

Summary: Now that he and Seto have parted ways less than amicably, Katsuya is left with the ghosts of blue, white and brown. (Myst's usual brand of hurt-no-comfort Kaijou; potential triggers in ao3)

Click below for a few preview paragraphs!

“Go ta hell, Seto Kaiba!”

The cacophonous banging of erratic fists on wood exhausted.

Katsuya hung his head in the gallows of his wrists; each uneven rasp he drew stilted by the weight of iron buried somewhere in the grave of his chest. With every surge of his veins, he felt the sear of pain burrow deeper into his left eye, coating his vision in a miasma of grey. Was it the void of solitude or the taint of his resentment that filled the darkness he was seated within?

He rolled his neck, imprints of his rage still reverberating in his ears. The cold metal of the chair an uncomfortable anchor for his limp body, limbs distending until they grazed the floor as he gave in to the weight of his own gravity. There, Katsuya sat, unmoving – his inner hurricane encased in the vacuum of Domino’s midnight; dim eyes, unfocussed, at the far wall – wondering if it was the absence of light or his own delusion that made the edges undulate and distort.

How did we end up like this?

The darkness was a kind tormentor: Within its negative space breathed that which was coveted; what the heart wanted, the darkness granted. Ideals and caricatures alike strung to life by determined longing, dancing in the wisps of suggestions in your mind’s shadow. Its stage was built upon your projections – helping shed your armour, creating the suggestion of safety, and catching when your knees buckled in confession; so it could coax inspiration from the deepest alcoves where you thought amnesia had long put what you held most precious to rest. 

(Read the rest of the fic here!)